Stavanger Bay 8 dogs 8 banjos (Optional Packtivity)

The Atoll's call rose through the night. The gangster had been taking a patrol along the Bay's borders, pausing so many feet to sniff at them. Despite that her call had tapered off into the blackened sky mere seconds ago he did not stop his patrol. He'd nearly reached the end and he intended to finish it before his made his way towards Doe. His head lowered, fierce eyes of red-orange settling on the writhing shadows of the territory beyond their western border, his black, leathery nostrils flared as he inhaled the scents around. It was clear of unwanted visitors and intruders but to ensure that it stayed that way he scratched his paw against the grass, letting the scent glands in his paw pads add his scent to the other's that littered the borders. His patrol done, he turned his back to the world outside of Blackrock Depths and made his way towards where the Atoll's call had risen from.

Arturo was not the first to arrive: there was an extremely mangy thing that the coywolf assumed was a wolf close to Doe. He thought he understood the lure. Her heat might have been abating but the scent was still an allure upon her natural perfume. He drew his salmon pink tongue along his leathery nose, trying not to linger upon it. She was not his and despite what instinct demanded of him he would show restraint. Thankfully, this was made easy by the fact that the scent was not as strong as it had been when she'd been in her full blown heat. Fiery, red-orange gaze slid to the silver draped woman — realizing that he knew neither of these wolves, though could not assume the same of Riptide. The two of them didn't share knowledge well with one another, but he hardly cared.

He wasn't his devout, unhinged counterpart. The gangster dipped his head to Doe in a respectful and gentlemanly manner, his gaze then sliding to the meats she had gathered with muted curiosity.